Red Chamber

By Tara Menon

A line of black advances from the horizon,

an ominous darkness, a supernatural force.

I hurry along thinking of you, fighting the enemy,

perhaps lying wounded in an open field,

your mouth open, whispering my name.

I shake my head at this vision

and the one I see in my mind:

the veil that teased us into loving each other,

transmogrified into a white shroud,

wrapping you in an embrace

and then floating free, once more light

and translucent, then changing into black.

The line now billows as the wind gusts,

shrinking the veil in size as it shifts toward me.

The veil cloaks me in the manner of a widow

and my heavy heart beats.

As I walk, the veil flaps like a crow,

portending death with unending caws.

Its soft touch provides solace

in the weeks to come,

billowing me into a shapeless figure

to ward off unwanted attention.

It gives me hope,

clinging to my stomach

giving me the message that love can’t be lost.

I will name the unborn after you or your mother.

Rustling close to my heart,

the veil imparts a final lesson —

you live on in a pulsing red chamber.

 

Tara Menon is a freelance writer based in Lexington, Massachusetts.  Her poetry is forthcoming in the anthology, Yearning to Breathe Free.  She has written for many publications including The Kenyon Review, the South Carolina Review, The APA Journal, India Currents and more.